Chinese Take-out
by jayminde
Summary: Mikasa is the top detective in her unit. While taking on a rather personal case, her closest friends and comrades become worried it's too much for her to emotionally handle, despite her composed facade. Jean brings her favorite food to her apartment to check on her and try to cheer her up. She realizes feelings and emotions she had tried to push away. (Rated M for future smut)


The phone on the coffee table buzzed for the 8th time within the past hour. Mikasa ignored the tiny bright screen lighting up to inform her that either Jean or Eren had texted her again. She knew they were probably only checking up on her, asking if she was okay.

She really had no clear answer for that.

The pictures and files and papers strewn in a some-what organized fashion all about her living room were probably proof that, no, she was not as okay as she tried to act like. This case she was working on, which had gone cold many years ago, was all she thought about these days. It involved a savage and brutal murder that occurred in her very own hometown 17 years ago; the murder of her parents.

She had decided to open it now that she was an experienced detective. Working on this case had never been her objective when she decided to take a job in this field, but now that she had the ability to, she took the chance to work on it herself. Technically, you're not supposed to work on cases that you are affiliated with on a personal level, but Mikasa wasn't just any detective off the street; she was possibly one of the best detectives in history.

In the beginning, she was confident that she would be able to keep her emotions under control and work on it just like any of the other many, many murder cases she had solved in the past...but the frustration was starting to seep its way out from under her controlled composure.

Flashbacks of her father being viciously stabbed and her mother being violently bludgeoned with an ax forced their way through the dark confines of her mind. She had kept them locked away for years, but working on this case was the key to opening that box and spilling the contents, staining her everyday life with blood, murder, grief, and regret.

Her partner, Jean Kirschtein, willingly worked with her on the case, despite her telling him not to. He insisted that he help, refusing no as an answer, so she let him. She was grateful of his help, though, for he had provided a lot. He only ever meant well on her behalf, she knew that. He had asked her out on a date once, a couple years back, but she had gracefully declined, informing him that she wanted to keep their partner relationship on a professional level. She hadn't thought much into it after that, as things went back to normal and Jean didn't bring it up again.

Now that they were working on this personal case together, she noticed things in the way he acted towards her. She assumed the possibility that his feelings for her were stronger than that of a professional relationship even after all this time. She tried her best to just ignore it, but it was hard considering how close you can get with your partner. She did care about Jean, there was no doubt about that... but she was quickly becoming unsure if her feelings for him remained between the boundaries of a professional one.

There was just so much on her mind, it was all so overwhelming.

The people in her life openly joked about her being "inhuman" for anybody else would have reached their breaking point by now. She merely laughed along with them, seeing it as a challenge to push herself even further. She refused to reach her breaking point. She would not rest until she put her parents murderers behind bars and she didn't care how long it would take.

If anyone could do it, she could... and she would.

Mikasa sat on her couch, her head in her hands, fingers running through sleek black hair. She was still in work clothes, shirt tucked in black pants, with her gun and badge clad on her belt. The rain outside was coming down in sheets, pelting on the window of her apartment. Her phone buzzes again and this time she decides she may as well look at the message.

'Hey, open your door. I got Chinese.'

It was Jean, as she expected. She sighs but sets her phone back down on the table, walks to the door, unlocks it, and opens it up to a soaking wet Jean. Water is dripping from the ends of his hair down his face and beading up to roll down his long, dark grey, pea-coat. Upon seeing her face, he smiles that wide, goofy smile, trademarked to only him, and lifts up an arm to give proof of the Chinese take-out bag in his hand. Mikasa just shakes her head, unable to fight the grin that formed on her face.

She steps aside "well, come in then, it's freezing out."

The smell from the bag in his hand wafted into her nostrils and filled her apartment. Chinese food was her favorite.

"You didn't have to bring me food, Jean."

"I know I didn't have to, but I did. You weren't answering your texts... mine or Eren's. I know when something's up, Mikasa. You've been more on edge lately. It's not like you. We're worried about you."

Mikasa grabs his jacket and helps him take it off, muttering about how he could catch pneumonia.

"Well I'm fine. Your and Eren's concern is not needed." She offers him a towel, which he uses to dry off his hair.

"No, by 'we' I mean all of us. The whole squad. Captain Levi is about ready to pull you off the case."

Mikasa halts for a second before grabbing the bag of take-out as well as the used towel from his hand and walks into the kitchen. She begins to remove the little boxes of food from the bag and set them on the counter, tossing the towel in the sink. She shrugs. "He wouldn't do that."

"Oh really, now? Is that what you think?" Jean enters her kitchen to lean against the counter top adjacent from her.

"Yes it is what I think." She opens a drawer, grabbing them each a fork. "I'm his strongest detective, he wouldn't pull me off my case. He knows what I can handle."

"Exactly, and when his strongest detective comes into work each morning looking like she's about to fall apart, he starts to wonder if _she_ knows what she can handle."

Mikasa avoids his gaze, opening a box of orange chicken and stabbing it with her fork. She goes through the motions; lift up fork, put in mouth, chew, and then swallow. He watches her and she knows he's waiting for a response but she doesn't have one to give.

He only sighs and runs a hand through his hair. She's never been one to share emotions or feelings, he doesn't expect her to open up now. He just wishes that she'd realize that everyone who's close to her can see through the emotionless facade she puts up. He can see the worries in the creased lines of her forehead and the grief swimming behind her eyes. It was going to take some time to get words from her, but he was patient.

"I'm not hungry, so it's all for you."

She looks at him now, "... are you sure? You paid for it. I could pay you back..?"

He shakes his head, "No need. Besides, I think I owed you anyway."

"Oh." Mikasa takes the second fork she had taken from the drawer and puts it back. She hesitates before gesturing for him to follow her to the living room. She doesn't really want him to see the mess of crime scene pictures and files her apartment had become, but decides that at this point, it can't be avoided.

Upon entering the room, she can almost see the exasperation forming on his face from behind her as he takes in just how deep she's dug herself in this whole thing.

"I, uhm..." She tries to defend herself, her mouth full of orange chicken.

Jean just slaps a hand to his face and shakes his head, chuckling at her. "I've always admired your strength y'know?" He plops himself onto her couch. "It's a characteristic I wish I had. I don't understand how you do this..."

Mikasa seats herself on the farthest end of the couch from Jean. She sighs, a hint of coldness trickling into her tone, "Well apparently I'm not all that strong, according to the rest of the squad."

"Mikasa," Jeans voice sounds almost reprimanding. "Don't start, you know that's not what we think."

"Oh, really," She scoffs, "Because that's what it sounds like. I'm obviously not doing a good enough job if my team and my captain think I need to be pulled off of my case."

She angrily jabs her fork into her chicken, staring harshly down into the box. She was letting herself slip, she wasn't keeping it together. She hadn't realized just how much it showed.

"You're taking this the wrong way. Our concern is for your well-being. There's a reason why people aren't generally supposed to get involved in personal cases. No matter if you're the best detective the unit has ever seen or not, that reason applies to everyone. I'm speaking for all of us when I say that I'd hate to see this case tear you apart, because that's what's happening. I know you try to hide it and I know you try to act like you don't need help and that you don't have emotions, Mikasa, but you do, and that's not a bad thing. Everyone has emotions."

Mikasa didn't speak, she didn't look at him, hiding her face behind her raven hair. He could see through her and she hated it. She hated that he knew her so well. She was sure that if she gave into his stare and turned her face to look at him, she would cry. She hated crying, it made her feel weak. So she focused on her steaming, delicious, chicken instead and swallowed it down along with the lump in her throat.

"Mikasa..." Jean's voice was soft. "Would you look at me please..? Just tell me what's on your mind..."

Her voice was flat when she responded, "There's nothing to tell... you said it all, I guess." She pops another piece of chicken into her mouth, chewing it slowly.

Jean pressed his lips into a hard line. She could be so infuriating. What the hell kind of an answer is that? It wasn't, was the thing. She was beating around the bush so she didn't have to open up to him, as always.

"Maybe it'd be a good idea to talk to Armin for a psych evaluation." She'd known Armin longer, it was possible that she'd be more willing to talk to him. "He's there for us if we need him, y'know. He does more than just dissect the minds of criminals." Jeans eyes never leave Mikasa.

She wants him to look away, she doesn't like him watching her so intently.

"I'm not going crazy," She snapped, finally turning to look at him. "I don't need to talk to Armin. I don't need a psych evaluation to tell me whether or not I'm fit to work my job."

"I'm not saying you're crazy." Jean sighs, "I'm saying that maybe if you just go talk to him, let some things off your chest... you'll see that maybe you should take some time off... take a break."

"I don't need to 'get anything off my chest' and I certainly don't need time off." Time off was the last thing this case needed.

"You're in denial." And goddamn difficult. Jean shakes his head.

"I am not in denial."

"Dude, you are so in denial that you're in denial about your denial."

Mikasa only rolls her eyes at him, "Did you come here for the sole purpose of lecturing me?"

Jean chuckles, "Maybe." He scratches the back of his head. "Nah. I really did come to check on you. I just wanted to see if you were okay. I know Chinese food is your favorite. Hoped it might… y'know...cheer you up."

"Smart move bringing the food," She says, sticking her fork into the little white box once more. "I might not have let you in my house otherwise."

Jean gasps with mock offense "Well, I never!"

He chuckles again and Mikasa can't help but smile at the sound.

"See?" He says a bit too excitedly, "That's what I came here for. It's an even rarer sight than usual these days."

It looked like he was trying so hard just to get her to talk about what she didn't want to talk about. He seemed to think that by getting her to talk about how she really felt, that it might make her feel better, that she might be happier if she did. He was dead wrong. If she just let all her emotions pouring out, she'd only feel like a weakling in front of him. She didn't want him to see her as some emotional wreck of a female. She had always hated that stereotypical situation of the damsel in distress being swooped off her feet by the knight in shining armor.

She knew him well enough to know that he wasn't trying to play that game. She knew he was only prying because he thought it would help, not because he wanted to swoop in like some "knight in shining armor." But she was afraid that if she put herself in the position, the situation would be inevitable.

She places the half empty box, fork sticking out, onto her coffee table, slouching her back into the couch cushions. She lets out a sigh, purposely changing the subject, "Well, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't tired."

"And we all know what a terrible liar you are." Jean gives a small laugh.

Mikasa tosses him a glare from her peripheral. "Shut up Jean. I'm a great liar. If I wasn't, I wouldn't be such a good detective."

"Yeah I mean, you're great at bluffing to the perps. Not so much to me. Or Eren, or Armin, or the Captain or-"

"Okay, I get it!" She cuts him off, to which he gives another laugh.

"You're painfully blunt is what you are, Jean. It'll be your downfall."

"I'm an honest man, that won't ever change." He shrugs.

She looks at him, and realizes she's grinning again.

It must be something about him, something he gives off, a natural happiness that spreads to her with every grin, every glint of those hazel eyes. Even in the way that he looked made her think of somewhere else, somewhere much brighter and worry-free than here. His mop of sandy hair was much lighter than his roots, which showed to be a darker shade of brown on his undercut. His skin was of a slight tan and his eyes were a glassy amber color she had come to admire. They reminded her of the color of the leaves in autumn.

She wondered why he liked her. Everything about him contrasted with her. Her hair was ebony, matched with gray eyes almost as dark. Her complexion was rather pale, making her look as if she never went out into the sun. She felt like the embodiment of a grey cloud, her presence looming over others. She thought someone like their sweet, short, blue-eyed, sunshine haired district attorney, Christa Renz, would be a better match for Jean.

"Remember that time you asked me out on a date when we first became partners? Why did you do that?" The words came rushing out of her mouth before her mind had time to process where she was going with it.

Jean's eyes widen and he coughs into his fist, clearly surprised by her question.

"Ahh, what's this all of a sudden?" He laughs nervously.

She's looking at him, her back pressed into the couch cushions, and her hands neatly clasped together in her lap. He studied her expression, not quite as blank as usual, but expectant.

She was expecting him to answer.

He coughs again, looking away, desperately trying to suppress the warmth rising in his cheeks. He felt like he was in high school again. He was 26 years old, a grown man, and it still wasn't any easier trying to talk to a female of interest.

"I, uhm," he starts, trying to piece together an answer. Why was she asking this?

"Well I... I uh... well. Okay well, when I first saw you, I thought you were really beautiful. I mean, I thought you were unique, there was something about you that caught my eye."

He didn't mention that he had immediately noticed another quality about her in their first couple months of partnership; a strength unlike anybody else's he had ever seen. There was a glimmer of undying fire in those inky irises that thrilled him. When he looked at her, he could see all the beauty of a sleek, black jaguar. She was a huntress who carried herself with confidence and moved in the most elegant of ways. She was a warrior who could take down a man twice her size with a swift flip of her arm and took no bullshit from anyone. She was a force to be reckoned with.

He couldn't look at her in this moment, his eyes staring ahead of him into space as he tried to collect his confidence. It's only when he hears her soft laugh that he returns his gaze to her.

"Painfully blunt, like I said." She smiles at him.

Is she laughing at him? He doesn't think so, but he isn't quite sure.

"Why did you bring that up now all of a sudden?"

Mikasa pauses before her answer, taking a lock of her short hair between her fingers and examining it. "I guess I'm just wondering what kind of appeal I had to you. I feel like I wouldn't be your type."

"Well, you were. You are, I mean." he brings his hand up to scratch the back of his head again. Mikasa figures it must be some sort of nervous habit.

She closes her eyes and gives a short laugh through closed lips. "Hm. Even now after getting to know me over the past two years?"

Jean is watching her again, trying to see through her calm composure. He almost didn't know how to answer. How could he not? It was when he noticed all her little imperfections and quirks that he realized he was diving headfirst into complete and utter infatuation with her, and there was no saving him. She had seemed so perfect on first glimpse when in reality, she was so undeniably human.

She wore mis-matched socks because she always lost their matches; she wasn't quite as organized as she seemed. There were times when she cracked jokes that no one was expecting to come from her, sometimes they were funny... other times not so much. She had a great sense of humor and would take the opportunity to laugh if she could, which unfortunately wasn't often. She needed more humor in her life.

He knew she loved Chinese food and the color blue. She loved music with a beat that made you want to get up and dance. She loved the season of autumn and little Scottish terrier dogs, because she owned one as a child. She was hard-working and strong, but most of all, she was a loyal friend who put those she cared about before herself, always worrying about others and forgetting to worry about herself. She was perfectly imperfect, and she was all he ever wanted.

He answers, honest as always.

"Well... even more so..."

She turns her head only slightly to the side, the lock of hair she had been twirling in her fingers falls back in place, and her hand remains, blocking his view of her mouth. All he can see is her eye, which studied him closely.

Mikasa was at a loss for what to say. She had never been good with this kind of thing; romance or anything of the sort, especially not the words part. She was more action than words. He had basically just admitted to her that he had feelings for her, and she had nothing to say to it.

The silence between them was growing and becoming more uncomfortable by the second. Jean assumed that Mikasa did not like what she heard, most likely because she did not feel the same way. He'd just have to try to forget about it and pretend the conversation hadn't happened. Just push it under the rug because he didn't want anything to become awkward between them.

"Uhm, I should probably head out now." He slaps his hands on his knees and tosses a weak smile in her direction, pushing himself off of her couch.

"You need your rest."

He's turned away from her, walking away, leaving her to sit speechless on the couch. Her mind is racing, but any comprehensible words that push past the jumble of mush in her brain get caught in her throat. She wants to get up and stop him from leaving, but she remains frozen in her seat. The much less logical, and more impulse regulated, side of her wanted so desperately for him to stay but her other more sensible side warned her of the possible outcomes if he did stay.

"I mean it, Mikasa."

His voice reaches her ears from the kitchen, followed by the sound of her front door opening and closing. The loud click echoes in the silence of her apartment. It seems to make something click in her, too, because she realizes he wasn't just talking about her needing rest.

Finally, unfrozen from her state of internal conflict, she snaps herself up off the couch and all-but sprints to the door. There is a moment of hesitation before her hand grabs the doorknob, but she permanently shakes away any second-guesses about any of the actions she knew she was about to take. Her heart leaps with nervous excitement and she flings herself out the door and down the concrete hallway of her apartment floor.

Jean is about to step into the stairwell no sooner than he hears the sound of footsteps approaching him from behind. They near rather quickly and he turns around to be utterly shocked to the core by Mikasa's lips crashing down on his, her hands pressed to either side of his face, pulling him down from his height to meet hers. Her lips are soft, but aggressive against his own.

When she pulls away, Jean finds himself to be a little light-headed. He was caught off guard with the most pleasant surprise. His eyes open wide and he blinks rapidly, staring at her, searching for any reason in her face for taking such an action.

She's just standing there with her lips slightly parted and her brows furrowed.

Jean can't help the grin that pulls at the corners of his mouth.

"You taste like orange chicken" He blurts dumbly, a bit drunk off the kiss. Mikasa raises an eyebrow at him.

"Uh, I mean that was good, yeah, let's do that again…" He mutters, correcting himself before wrapping his arms around her slim waist and pulling her in to taste her again. Her arms fling tightly around his neck in return.

* * *

**A/N:** The next chapter will contain smut and that will probably be as far as I go with this story. We'll see how I feel. This story has a lot of background to be longer and more detailed, but I only ever created it with writing smut in mind.


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